


The Mutt and the Prize Hound

by BloodStainsBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen, Really intense sibling rivalry, This fandom is dead but I still ride the waves, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 18:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10599252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodStainsBlue/pseuds/BloodStainsBlue
Summary: “You appear to have grown silent as well,” Noah adds, and there’s a recognizable smirk in his voice, one that Basch hadn’t heard since they were boys in Landis, playing meaningless games while their mother looks on with amusement, teacup in hand. Basch is hiding up a tree again, and Noah stands below him, calling out, “I’ve found where you’re hiding! Get down here!”





	

            “You have grown thin, Basch” his brother says from where he stands before him, his helmet clasped tightly against his side. He says this every time he comes to visit him, as if always surprised that his muscle tissue is slowly wasting away, his diet consisting solely of enough food that he will stay alive.

            ‘Yes. That’s one of the side-effects of starvation, is it not?’ he wants to respond. He was never one for quipping, never quite able to keep up with the quick banter of his men, not so naturally as they could, at the very least, but now he wanted nothing more than to say something humorous and subordinate all at once. But he knows better. The soldiers who have been tasked with watching over him, underpaid and bored of watching one man who’s supposed to be dead hanging from chains, have been nicer to him than usual. He shouldn’t push it.

            Instead he hangs his head in shame, as he does every day. The muscles in his neck hurt, from the constant bowing of his head as a dog begging for scraps from the cruelest of masters. The joints in his shoulders strain, the support they’ve since added not managing to stop the never-ending pull. Perhaps the rough relocation job one of the guards had done had not been enough to fix the damage. Would he be able to use his arms if he ever managed to leave? He was unsure.

            “You appear to have grown silent as well,” Noah adds, and there’s a recognizable smirk in his voice, one that Basch hadn’t heard since they were boys in Landis, playing meaningless games while their mother looks on with amusement, teacup in hand. Basch is hiding up a tree again, and Noah stands below him, calling out, “ _I’ve found where you’re hiding! Get down here!”_

            Basch pulls his head up, an audible pop resounding through the barren ruins that he calls his home, looking down at Noah from his perch in the hanging cage. “I will never fall silent to you!” he growls, and for a half-second he can see the whites of his brother’s eyes before his face becomes impassive again. He wonders what stirred up such a reaction. Perhaps he finally has become as feral he certainly looks, his curly hair crawling down his back while his long beard scratches his chest in a way that it never has in his life.

            “I should hope so. I’m not here on a social visit and you’re _certainly_ not alive because you deserve it,” Noah responds. He leans forward, takes a rusted metal bar into his leather-clad grasp. “You have given us more valuable information on The Insurgence than any foot-soldier we’ve tortured ever has. And you won’t stop until you have nothing less to give.” He pushes off of the cage, and it lightly swings, the metal screaming at the strain of holding Basch over the massive drop.

            Noah slides his helmet over his face and steps away, motioning for the soldiers who escorted him in to return to attention so they may leave. “Now we’re both dogs of The Empire, brother. But you are the mutt who whimpers outside in the rain, while I sit at the Master’s feet.”

            “I hope the scraps he throws down upon you make you sick,” Basch spits.

            His brother huffs as he turns away, and if it were thirty years ago he’d wonder if there were a pout under the mask. As is, he will probably not be fed for a few days. Or maybe they’ll forgo the extra starvation for lashes.

            But he’s managed to crawl under his mirror’s skin and for now that is enough. He must take the small victories, until someone rescues him.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, yeah! I'm replaying FFXII and Basch is one of my favorite video game characters of all time. Period. So ya'll get this. And maybe more as the mood strikes me. 
> 
> If you read this (I'm not expecting many people to get this far ^^;) then thanks and I love you. Comment, Kudos, or come say hi to me on tumblr @bloodstainsblue
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Ya'll are awesome, and sorry it's not an update for Peaceful if that's what you were hoping for... It's coming, promise. <3


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